"So," Death concludes approvingly, "I think you've learned something today." Dean attempts to get loud and mouthy, but one withering look from Death is all it takes to shut him up again. Death then announces he must be on his way, as he's got an appointment down in Hell to retrieve Sam's tattered old whore of a soul. "Why would you do that for me?" Dean demands, instantly suspicious. "I wouldn't do it for you Death haughtily replies. "You and your brother keep coming back -- you're an affront to the balance of the universe, and you cause disruption on a global scale. But you have use." Death cryptically adds, "Right now, you're digging at something, Intrepid Detective, and I want you to keep digging. It's about the souls," Death finishes, offering Dean -- not to mention the long-suffering and rapidly dwindling audience -- absolutely nothing else to go on aside from, "You'll understand when you need to." With that, Death dons his ring and disappears.
Dean immediately scampers back down to the basement, and he and Bobby fling themselves against the panic room's door just in time to watch as Death arrives with a valise, which he unclasps to unleash Sam's tattered and glowy whore of a soul. Death calmly explains once more about the barrier he intends to erect in Sam's being or eternal essence or whatever, only this time he cautions that the barrier might be "itchy," and that it would be best if Sam resist the urge to scratch it. Heh. With that, Death reaches into his valise, fishes out tattered and glowy whore of a soul, and shoves that nasty thing right into Sam's chest. Sam howls and screams and moans and wails until the screen abruptly cuts to black.
"What on earth was all that racket about?!" Raoul shrieks, twisting himself about atop his overstuffed armchair, the better to glare at yours truly, and listen, lizard: If you don't want to stay awake for the episodes, don't expect me to explain what happened in them afterwards. "Oh, poop!" Raoul pouts, two perfect circles of smoke popping out from his sulky nostrils. "You're being absolutely no fun!" Perhaps, my scaly friend, but I do suspect I'll soon become a hell of a lot more fun, and pretty quickly at that. "And why, if you don't mind me asking, have you arrived at that particular conclusion!?" Easy: There are no new episodes of this crap until February. "Hoo-ray!" Raoul rejoices. "I couldn't have asked for a better holiday-season present myself!" Truer words, Raoul. Truer words. Have you anything to add? "Only this! [A-him!] Festive holiday kisses to all of my darling pretties! Mwah!"